


i like to think i have everything i want from this life

by waferkya



Series: Please Just Walk With Me, Yeah? [3]
Category: Basketball RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Humor, Lawyers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waferkya/pseuds/waferkya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ricky’s thing with Kevin works like this: Ricky has no idea how it works.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	i like to think i have everything i want from this life

Ricky’s thing with Kevin works like this: Ricky has no idea how it works.

Something like that is guaranteed to sound bad to most people, terrible even, but Ricky? Oh, Ricky is wonderfully fine with it. Kevin is perfect. Kevin is the best thing in Ricky’s life. He is Ricky’s best friend, roommate and surrogate big brother, all wrapped up in a breath-takingly gorgeous burrito of the finest possible underwear-model body and a handsome, chiseled face you can’t stop staring at. Cherry on top? Those mesmerizing ice-blue eyes that Ricky sometimes wishes he could lick.

Seriously, Kevin is great.

He’ll come home from his morning God-only-knows-how-many-miles-he’s-done-today run, and even through the sweat and the flushing skin he’s still the hottest person in the neighborhood, Ricky notwithstanding; and then he’ll disappear into the bathroom for a quick shower—he has learned to lock himself in when he’s in a hurry—and before you know it, you look up and he’s standing there, criminally attractive in a pressed suit and a fancy pair of big, black-rimmed glasses that make him look like your token sexy TA from any college-based porn movie ever.

Ricky has trouble not choking on his milk and cereal basically every day, weekends included, because on weekends, Kevin has the delicious habit of wearing nothing but boxer briefs.

And Kevin’s boxer briefs are not particularly good at hiding what’s underneath them.

“I think I need some real problems,” Ricky says, his words softening into a giggle, as he collapses back onto the bed.

Kevin, who’s staring at the ceiling with the blank, blissful face he usually gets after a very good fuck, makes a vague noise, just to confirm he didn’t die of an orgasm. Ricky pokes his calf with a foot, and leans in to nip at his ear.

“Good?” he asks, his hand skimming the hard surface of Kevin’s chest—the bastard doesn’t even go to the gym, all he does is practice the law and run and fuck and eat chips, and he still gets to look like something that should be carved in marble.

“Good,” Kevin mumbles, but there’s this look to him that leads Ricky to believe he has no idea what ‘good’ means anymore. For all Kevin’s brains know, they might be talking thermonuclear astrophysics right now.

Ricky giggles again and snuggles up closer, burying his nose into the crook of Kevin’s neck. Kevin’s hand runs up to tangle in his hair, gentle and lazy, and Ricky sighs, and he feels abso-fucking-lutely content.

Then his phone goes off with an alarm that says, _HOT CHOCOLATE W/ HOT LAWYER (not Kevs) IN 1,5HRS_ , and Ricky rolls on his back, sighs, and slips out of bed.

Kevin doesn’t even realize that Ricky’s gone until Ricky’s _gone_ , dressed-and-out-of-the-front-door gone, but seriously, it’s fine.

That’s how it works.

 

Juan Carlos is not nervous, because he is not on a date—for fuck’s sake, he’s practically married.

“You know, married people go on dates too,” Ricky points out, scooping up a tiny bit of the ridiculously thick, dark hot chocolate, and then licking it off the spoon, and then turning the spoon face-down on his tongue. He looks up at Juan Carlos from under those curvy lashes and the mess of hair falling into his eyes, and he’s not the most obscene thing Juan Carlos has ever seen in his life—please, _he’s practically married,_ —except that Christ, he totally is.

Juan Carlos does his best to focus; he reminds himself that they’re in public, that Ricky’s still completely clothed, that there’s no way this thing will end the way Ricky seems to want it to end. No fucking way in the universe.

“That’s married people who cheat,” he says, carefully surveying the small plate of cookies they’ve been handed together with the chocolate. Eventually he picks one of the plain, buttery ones, and Ricky makes a face like he won some kind of bet. “I don’t cheat.”

“Except you’re here.”

Juan Carlos rolls his eyes and dips the cookie in the chocolate. “Pau knows exactly where I am, and that I’m with you.”

Ricky is still sucking on the goddamned spoon, and he makes a thoughtful sound.

“Pau,” he says, careful, like he’s getting a taste of the name, and Juan Carlos doesn’t like it. Ricky seems to realize he’s tense now—Jesus, he’s practically bristling—and his pensive expression slowly melts into a big grin. “Oh, I see. So you’re the possessive one.”

Juan Carlos can feel himself blush. “Nobody’s possessive of nobody else, thank you very much.”

Ricky chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, right, perfect balanced relationship of your dreams, yeah?”

“More like, none of your business.”

Juan Carlos didn’t mean that to sound half as unfriendly as it turned out; luckily, Ricky seems to have figured him out better than he thought, and he throws back his head with a deep, throaty laughter that is definitely, definitely attractive.

Juan Carlos thinks of Pau, and smiles.

“Okay, I get it, it’s off-limits or something. My bad.”

Juan Carlos shrugs, and then asks, as casually as he can manage, “What about you then?”

Ricky looks at him for a long moment, uncharacterstically serious. Juan Carlos even begins to worry he said something wrong—he wouldn’t be surprised—when Ricky finally beams up at him, then leans in to steal Juan Carlos’ cookie from his hand.

“I’ve got a roommate,” Ricky says, his mouth full, and Juan Carlos cringes. “Kevin, maybe you saw that on Facebook?”

Juan Carlos nods. “Please don’t make me tell you to swallow.”

Ricky smiles. “Right. I already made the that’s-what-he-said joke, yeah?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Ricky nods, and he does swallow, thank fuck. He also licks a bit of chocolate from the corner of his lip. “Good. Well, as I was saying, Kevin is my roomie, and he looks out for me, and you know, he’s a lawyer too actually.”

Juan Carlos raises an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t do the fun stuff, he’s mostly divorces and custodies and boring shit like that.”

“Who says I do the fun stuff?”

Ricky gives him A Look. “C’mon. You kinda go around like you own the city.” Juan Carlos hides a smug smile behind the rim of his mug, but Ricky sees him anyway. “B’sides, I might have Googled you. And can I just say, your boyfriend’s brother is better looking than your boyfriend, Juanki, I’m worried about you.”

Juan Carlos does something he hasn’t done in a long time to anyone except Pau and Marc and maybe his brother Justo, then: he grabs a napkin, quickly rolls it into a ball, and throws it at Ricky’s forehead. The temporary lapse in maturity is absolutely justified by the kid’s big, big mouth, anyway.

“Hey!”

“Shut up, oh my God, do you ever _think_ about the things you say?”

Ricky grins. “Yeah, but like, five hours after I’ve said them.”

“I’m not surprised,” Juan Carlos says, and he’s shaking his head, but he’s also smiling a little. He can’t help it; Ricky is like that, aggressively endearing.

 

“All right,” Juan Carlos says, and the sun is almost set and they’re ambling aimlessly through the Raval, having left the coffee shop maybe two hours ago. “I have something to ask.”

Ricky laughs; he’s been toying with Juan Carlos’ fingers for a while, and now he lets go of them to tug at the hem of his scarf.

“I thought you’d never. I’ll be honest then, yes, Juanki, you do make me horny,” he says with a big bright smile, stepping in front of Juan Carlos and right into his personal space, bringing their faces close together.

Juan Carlos—blushes a little, high on his cheeks—rolls his eyes. “That’s so not what I was going to ask. Also, I don’t care.”

Ricky scrunches up his nose and sticks his tongue out. “Not groovy.”

“You are such an infant,” Juan Carlos mutters, but there’s an edge of fondness to that, and Ricky really wants to kiss him. He won’t, because he’s a good kid, but he can admit he’s been thinking about that for a while.

“What is it then?” he asks, just to take his mind off thoughts that are better stored away under a carpet inside his head, together with all the things he’d like to do with Kevin, and say to Kevin, and have Kevin say back to him.

Juan Carlos drops his eyes to his shoes and says something Ricky doesn’t quite understand, but it sort of sounded like, _I need to hire you_. Which can’t be right.

“Juanki? I didn’t catch any of that.”

Juan Carlos breathes in, breathes out; he looks sharply up at Ricky’s face, and he’s red all over when he repeats, just marginally louder, “I need to hire you.”

Ricky’s eyebrows shoot up so high and fast he thinks they’ll get stuck like that.

 

“So, how’d it go?” is the first thing that Pau asks him that night, after he’s pinned Juan Carlos to the first wall he could find, and kissed the breath out of him.

“Hi,” Juan Carlos mumbles, a little glassy-eyed, and he stands on his tiptoes to steal another kiss, barely a peck this time, because he’s still feeling like he’s about to pass out. “Christ. Hi.”

“Hey,” Pau says, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smug grin. “Missed me much?”

“Words,” Juan Carlos groans, his hands sneaking around the front of Pau’s jeans. “Words are bad.”

_Shirt_ , he thinks, _also bad._

Pau smiles and bats away Juan Carlos’ cold, clumsy fingers; he unzips his pants and starts unbuttoning his own shirt, tipping his head to the side so Juan Carlos can do to his neck whatever he pleases—biting, apparently.

“God, Juanqui,” he mumbles, and then he’s grabbing a handful of Juan Carlos’ shirt and tugging it free.

“Yup,” Juan Carlos says. “Hi.”

By the time they make it to the bedroom, they are both done already.

 

Ricky has seen enough episodes of NCIS:Los Angeles to know how things get done in the real world; he’s not so stupid to get into it himself, but he calls this guy he knows, who’s a total asshole and a bully and he’s always trying to get kids hooked up on meth or talking them into slipping shit in the girls’ drinks, so even if he gets caught as collateral damage, at least it’s gonna be the good kind of collateral damage.

The club might be high-end and expensive as heaven, but the alley behind it is dark and smelly like any other shitty backstreet in the world; Ricky catches his guy on camera, handing a bag of coke to Juanki’s evil overlord, who’s seriously shaking and sweating with withdrawal and can’t seem to get his hand under his jacket to grab the money, and his fucking bodyguard has to step in and settle things.

“Shit,” Ricky mutters, and he hopes it’s okay anyway.

“Your guy is not exactly a smart cookie,” he tells Juan Carlos the next morning over coffee, and he pushes the camera into his palm without even looking down.

Juan Carlos pockets it and shrugs. “He is, when he’s snorted his weight in coke.”

Ricky laughs, then he remembers this is a Senator they’re talking about, and he feels suddenly quite somber. Juan Carlos catches the swing in his mood and reaches out to pat his knee.

“Thank you,” he says, very quietly. “If we can get him behind bars for whatever reason, he’s ours.”

Ricky nods. “I’m happy to help,” he says, with a small grin. “Oh, and I uploaded all that stuff to a secure cloud-storage thingy, in case you need it.”

Juan Carlos looks genuinely impressed. He takes a sip of his coffee and then mumbles, “As I said, thank you.”

Ricky waves it off.

“No probs. B’sides, I think we both know the real reason why I did it.”

Juan Carlos’ eyebrows pull down a little. “We do?”

“Yeah,” Ricky says, his smile growing mischievous as he nips the tip of his tongue between his teeth. “Now I get to be the spy who shagged you, you know.”

Juan Carlos rolls his eyes, but under the table, he hooks his foot around Ricky’s ankle and doesn’t let go.

Ricky hasn’t kissed him yet; it’s okay anyway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> YAY WE'RE DONE WITH THIS 'VERSE. Yeah I know I let you smell the possibility of a threesome but I'm so not ready. Thanks for sticking by, this is the first series I (sort of) complete! Feelings! Tons of feelings! I'll go reward myself by writing some more?
> 
> Kevin Love is [6 ft 10 in](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me6p4des6u1rn7xu2o1_500.jpg) [of ridiculous](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mdx0usmxlm1r31jjho1_500.jpg) [not-so-accidental](http://24.media.tumblr.com/76eb1d5e033077158f635bca7b26e33e/tumblr_mfa9bujjSV1r2br17o1_500.png) [hotness](http://25.media.tumblr.com/76b3e0f0e02d6ae56d42aab8274e8dad/tumblr_mn78ni1bLN1s6381so3_r1_500.jpg).
> 
> Oh and just fyi, I'm with Pau on the Austin Powers thing. #thanksbutnothanks


End file.
